“Sometimes I dream of you,” he told me one evening. “I dream of you the way you look right now, in…
There’s a game she likes to play by herself on some warm, summer nights when the moon hangs low and full, gleaming on…
In the silent hours, the ticking clock echoes on bare, stone walls, and the memory of him now a silhouette that…
There’s a whisper coming from the fallen leaves and in my mind, the image of a woman scatters into millions…